


Charatale: A Prologue

by agentaace



Series: Charatale [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Misgendering, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8046448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentaace/pseuds/agentaace
Summary: The stories that aren't shown in the game. Chara and Frisk before the underground. Rated T for drugs, alchohol, suicide mention, and the occasional swear. ...That made it sound more intense than it is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Charatale: A Prologue: Chapter 1**

_The year is 210X._

“Don’t worry, Frisk, I’ll be back tomorrow! I’m only going to the city, it shouldn’t take that long…” Your mother frowns, looking down at her purse. You’re not allowed to touch her purse. It might have dangerous stuff in it, she said. “Will you be alright by yourself for tonight?” She asks.

You nod. One night? What’s the worst that could happen? A pulse of your soul tells you that your mother is smiling down at you, and leaning down for a hug. You accept it, because you love hugs.

“And just remember, I’m never far from you. I’ll just be in Ebbott, only on the other side of the mountain!” She says, stooping to put her hands on your shoulders.

“I know, mom,” you nod. She’s always so paranoid you’ll get into trouble! You’re blind, not incapable! You can see just fine! ...Well, not ‘see’ in the traditional sense, you haven’t been able to do that since the accident, but… You wish that your mom didn't have to worry so much!

“You have your phone?” She asks. You nod, patting the pocket of your pajama shorts. She says they’re blue, and you take her word for it. “You have the house key?” You nod again, pointing in the direction of the kitchen counter. It’s up there.

“Are you gonna have fun on your trip?” You ask. It’s important that your mom is happy. It’s important to you, but it wasn’t as important to your dad. He had left after the accident, so you hadn’t seen him in about five years. That’s okay, though, you didn’t like him much anyway. He was mean and he always smelled weird.

Your mom sighs. “Oh, I hope so, sweetie.” She stands up, and takes her bus pass from the counter. “It’s just a business trip, you know?” The sound of the card reminds you that she’s going far away, too far to walk. You stand from the chair at the table and hug her. She laughs. You like her laugh. “Francisca, don’t be too dramatic!” She says, using your full name. Her accent came out a tiny bit. You like her accent. You don’t like that name, though. It’s too hard to say, and it’s too girly. When you were little you couldn’t say it at all, so your mom had shortened it to Frisk. That felt much better.

“Don’t be gone too long?” You ask.

“Don’t worry! One night, remember? What’s the worst that could happen?” She asks, voicing your thoughts from before.

“...Can I go to the bus stop with you?” You ask hopefully. Another pulse of your soul says that she’s considering it, frowning. But at least she’s thinking about it? You put on your best, most pleading smile.

She sighs again. She does that a lot. “Sure,” She finally says. You brighten. “But will you make it back okay by yourself?” She asks in concern.

“Yes! I know the way!” You say cheerfully. Finally she smiles.

“Alright, I suppose that’s fine. Here,” She says, offering you a hand. You take it and the two of you walk out the door of your small house. It’s in a pretty rural neighborhood, you don’t really have any neighbors at all. Your two-bedroom house was probably the only one in these woods, actually.

Regardless, it’s a pretty short walk to the bus stop. The two of you walk down the dirt road, and chat a little.

“Remember to eat, okay?” Mom reminds me meaningfully.

“I only forgot once!” You protest. It’s not your fault you forget to be hungry.

“I know, sweetie, but I left some food for you and if that’s not gone by the time I’m back, then I’ll be forced to feed you myself, like when you were a baby! And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She smiles, ruffling your short hair. You giggle.

“What if it rains?” You ask curiously.

“Then just stay indoors, silly.” Mom answers.

“What if it rains where you are? Will you be safe?” You ask with wide eyes. Mom laughs.

“Of course, I’ll be in a hotel. It’ll be okay! Don’t be scared!” She advises.

“I’m not scared! I’m not scared of anything!” You proclaim proudly. You’re so distracted that you trip over a root in the ground, and fall down. Your mom’s smile drops instantly, and next second she’s helping you up.

“Be more careful! This is what I’m worried about!” She says worriedly. You brush the dirt off of your pajamas.

“I’m okay,” You tell her honestly. You trip a lot, so you don’t really care anymore. It’s not like it hurts very badly, just a scrape or bruise every now and then. Besides, this is the forest! There’s plenty of soft grass and dirt to land on!

Your soul says that your mom’s looking at you. You tilt your head back up at her, curiously. She smiles. “You know, it’s uncanny how you do that.” At your look of confusion she adds, “You always know exactly what people are doing and what’s going on around you. Sometimes, I even forget you’re blind!” She laughs. It fades into a more somber mood as you both think back to when you weren’t blind.

“...I guess I’m just that good?” You offer, shrugging. She smiles again, making you smile in return. Mission accomplished. You hate when she’s sad. Unfortunately, it happens a lot.

You finally make it to the bus stop. It’s kind of run down, but you thought that it was nice. It has a cool rustic feeling, anyways. The paint is peeling and the metal is rusting, but as long as there’s a small overhang to shelter from the rain, all is well.

The two of you wait on the bench, you swinging your feet and your mom checking her phone. Finally the bus shows up with a loud rumble, and your mom hugs you tightly before sliding her card and getting on. She waves from her seat inside, and you wave back. Well, you don’t know for sure that she waved, but you’d like to think she did. It’s possible you were waving at somebody else.

And that leaves you to your own devices. You start walking back down the familiar road, back home. The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming… It’s a beautiful day outside. You imagine the sky’s really blue, too. You stumble over a few stray branches and roots, but familiarity combined with your soul sensing ensures that you make it home safely.

...The soul thing. Yeah, it’s weird. You’re definitely grateful, of course! It’s just that nobody understands what it is, and no one has ever heard of such a thing. Most people think that you made it up. You stopped mentioning it a year or two ago when your mom explained to you that it was only make believe. That isn’t true, of course, but nobody needs to know that. Your mom dismisses it as a ‘coping mechanism’ to deal with your blindness. ...She means well, but she doesn’t always get you.

You arrive home and lock the door behind you. It’s late afternoon, and there’s not much to do. It was summertime, so there wasn’t any homework to cure your boredom, and you weren’t so sure about going outdoors when your mom wasn’t around. You were only ten, after all. Your options are limited. You can’t draw, you can’t read, you can’t watch TV.

...You could, however, listen to music. You find the stereo and turn it on, keeping the music at a reasonable volume. You dance a little, revisiting some of your old ballet routines from years ago, when you tried your hand at dance. You were never very good at it, but you had fun anyway.

After a few more hours of that, among other activities, you decide that it’s time to eat dinner. Your mom had made a point growing up of learning how to cook. Of course, that had been thrown out a bit due to blindness, but she still made an effort to ensure you knew how to feed yourself.

However, the menu tonight was instant macaroni and cheese, limited cooking required. You pour some water into the dry pasta, and put it into the microwave to boil the water. You ready some milk and cheese while that heats, and hum along to the music. The microwave beeps, and you carefully take it out and set it onto the counter. You mix in the milk and cheese, and then dinner is served.

You’re thinking about opening a restaurant someday. You think you’d be good at it, even if you already have to stand on your toes to get to the microwave.

You eat your delicious creation, and decide to curl up to an audiobook your mom bought for you. It’s about a dragon and a princess, and you love it. You’ve heard it hundreds of times. You finish it again, and then it’s time for bed. You kind of miss your mom already, and you can’t wait to see her tomorrow. She said she’d be back by noon, so maybe you’ll meet her at the bus stop around then. Yeah, that sounds fun.

~~~~~~~~~

_About 100 Years Earlier…_

I hate the city. It’s awful. There’s too many people that I have no interest in seeing, there’s _way_ too much noise, and nobody here even likes me. I hate to complain, but… No, actually, I enjoy complaining. It’s one of my few passions. That, and bad jokes. Like my life. Heh.

A rare smile crosses my face as I contemplate the hollowness of life, and consider the sketchpad in front of me. Maybe I’ll draw a fire today.

“Oh, Charles, I missed your smile!” My mother says after bursting through the front door smelling of alcohol. She’s probably just gotten home from where she ‘works’, at the bar. I wince at the name that I haven’t called myself in years, but don’t say anything about it.

I look at her and purposefully glare, with all the anger I can manage. Her bright red lipstick smile falls, and she looks sad again. I feel a little bad for her, but it’s not like she’s ever done anything for me. I lean my elbow on the windowsill, resting my head in my hand. The street below is the chaos typical of cities, with smoke coming from the cars and creating a layer of smog over the sky. I imagine stepping out onto the fire escape, and not coming back.

“Be nice to your mother,” My father says, not even looking up from his newspaper. I like him more than my mother, but that’s not hard.

“I never get any respect in this house,” My mother mutters angrily, draping herself over the velvet sofa and pulling out a cigarette. My father just rolls his eyes and goes back to reading his newspaper. “OH!” She yells suddenly, falling onto the expensive wooden floor. “Is that the time!?” She exclaims, glancing at the old grandfather clock. It’s about four in the afternoon.

“Time for what, dear?” Father asks absently. Mother’s face falls.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” She asks in concern.

_Obviously,_ I think. Too bad no one can hear thoughts.

“Oh, no. We’re going to the Johnson’s party tonight!” She exclaims, throwing things into her purse. “We have to be there by eight!” Her cigarette lies forgotten on the floor, still lit.

“...Sweetie, it’s only four.” My father puts down the newspaper, and rests a hand on her shoulder. She pauses, and looks at him.

“We need to go shopping, it’s a formal event.” Her eyes have gone colder, she hates when she’s patronized. “This,” She gestures to our clothes in disdain, “simply won’t do. Come, darlings, we must go now!” She beckons me with a hand, and pulls father’s hand along with her. I reluctantly leave the window seat and slip on some shoes, making sure to tap the cigarette out before it catches the house on fire. ...Actually, that might not be such a bad thing.

In the big city it’s not really worth having a car, you can either walk everywhere, take a taxi, or take the bus. Of course, that doesn’t stop my mother from buying a bright red sports car purely to show off. She fumbles trying to unlock it, so my father gently takes the keys and gets behind the wheel. Which is good, because my mother’s driving… is honestly terrible, especially when she’s drunk. I hate being in the car with her.

We arrive at Ebbott’s biggest and most expensive shopping mall, two stories full of ‘fashionable’ stores that only people like my parents would ever go to. I’m dragged into one of the high end fashion cemeteries, and while I’m walking I actually see something I like. It’s a green and yellow sweater, and it looks like it’s the softest sweater ever. ...Sadly, it’s in the girl’s section, so it’s unlikely I’ll be permitted to have it. I’m pulled away.

“This is so adorable!” My mother slurs, picking up a random dress shirt. She turns it to me, awaiting my reaction. I shrug. It’s purple, which isn’t really my color. Her face falls again, but she quickly moves on to other options. I’m shown a few, but I remain stubborn and unwilling to cooperate out of spite. “...Alright, if you don’t suck it up and pick one, I’m picking one for you,” She snaps. I frown, knowing that it’s a threat. She can and will make me go in something I’ll hate, and I take her seriously.

I look around quickly, and see a simple black button-up shirt. I pick it up, and show it to my mother.

“That one? It’s so… boring.” She frowns, then sighs. “Alright. But you have to get something else, to spice it up a little bit. Can’t have people thinking I’ve raised you poorly...” I groan at the hypocrisy of that statement, then remember the sweater. I debate for a second, then lead her back to it. “...Darling, this is the girl’s section,” She says uneasily.

I nod, and show her the sweater. I try to smile a little, hoping it’ll improve my chances. My father arrives with a new outfit of his own, looking down at his phone.

“Honey, tell our child why he can’t have a girl’s shirt!” She demands of him, looking for backup. I sigh.

“If a boy is wearing it, then it’s a boy shirt. Can we leave, now?” He looks at it for a second, and nods. “It’s not even that bad, and he likes it. Here, I got some slacks.” He hands my mother a pair of brown pants, presumably for me. Mother looks at them appraisingly.

“I suppose that the green and brown go well together…” She mumbles. “...Fine. But don’t expect any more favors.” ...Favors? What favors? She’s never done me any favors. I decide to sit while she goes and gets herself a dress, since my feet are already tired and hurting. Dress shoes, you know?

About an hour later, my mother returns for me. “Where did your father go?” She asks upon seeing me by myself. I shrug, making her sigh in exasperation. “Come on, we’ll go find him.” She takes my wrist and pulls me up from the ground. “Don’t sit on the floor again, it’s dirty.” She reprimands as I’m tugged through the store.

We find him asleep in a massage chair out in the hallway. “James! Time to leave!” She hisses at him. He opens his eyes and reluctantly gets up, and the three of you leave to get into the car again. One happy family, right?

I catch my mother looking at me through the rearview mirror. Her lips are pursed, and she seems to not like what she sees. “You really do need a haircut, dear, it’s getting much too long. They’re going to think I’m raising a hooligan!”

I frown. I like my hair. In my opinion, it’s not long enough. The good news is, we can’t stop for a haircut now, or we’ll miss the party. The bad news is that I have to go to a party. I _hate_ my mother’s social events. It makes me feel like I’m just some item on display, purely to be shown off. And it’s not like there’s anything I can say about it, either.

Oh… I should probably have mentioned by now, I’m kind of mute. Totally mute. Always have been. ...As far as they know. Truth is, I died when I was little, like two years old. I had accidentally strangled myself with a plastic bag, out of my parent’s negligence. But, and here’s the weird part, I came back. It was a few seconds before I had put the bag on my head, and I remembered feeling like I needed to do it for some reason. I stopped, and this time I didn’t die. However, the bag had choked out my neck, leaving my vocal chords damaged. I guess there has to be some exchange for messing with time, right?

That’s the first time I reset. Yeah, reset. I got that from a video game, since I felt it applied to my situation. The character dies, then you reset, and they’re alive again. It happened to me a few more times, including a more notable one when I was nine where I had jumped off the fire escape into traffic below.

...Not my best moment. But realizing that I couldn’t actually die was at the same time liberating and confining. There were plenty of times when I actually wanted to die, and I felt it was unfortunate that I couldn’t. Other times, it gave me the courage to do really stupid things. Like, would my mother actually kill me if I was irritating enough and she was drunk enough? (The answer was yes, though it was technically an accident. It’s not her fault I was standing by a window.)

Eventually she noticed that I was a little screwed up in the head, and sent me to therapy. Though, I’m not sure why she thought it would help. I mean, how am I supposed to be treated if I couldn’t talk to the therapist?

As it turns out, I could draw instead of talk. And I got really good at it. Better than most kids my age, anyway. Still… Therapy didn’t help at all. And speaking of which…

“Ah, crap, we skipped your appointment with Dr. Leslie!” Mother exclaims suddenly, making everyone in the car jump. “Now you’re going to be all weird and sulky at the party…” She grumbles.

“He would have been like that anyway, dear,” My father says in my defence, except not really. Thanks, dad.

“Ugh, whatever,” Mother grumbles. I slide down in my seat, exhausted already. I can’t even imagine what the actual party will be like.


	2. Chapter 2

**Charatale: A Prologue: Chapter 2**

You wake up the next morning full of excitement. You turn off the alarm that woke you, having set it the night before for eleven o’clock, an hour before your mom was supposed to get back. Rolling out of bed and onto the floor, you jump up and don’t bother getting dressed. You brush your teeth and grab an apple, and make your way to the bus stop in your blue and pink pajamas.

You almost trip in your excitement several times, but manage to catch yourself with your own momentum. You eventually reach the worn down bus stop, and hop onto the rusting bench. Even though technology’s pretty advanced in the majority of the world, on this side of the mountain the land’s been left practically untouched save for the few houses here and there.

The same could not be said of the city of Ebott, over the mountain cleverly named Mt. Ebott. According to your history books, it’s always been one of the more advanced and bigger cities in the area. And with that comes it’s drawbacks, such as much more violence and disappearances.

Your mom tries to hide it from you, but you’re not deaf, and therefore you can listen to the news on the TV without any problem. And so you’re learned that it’s fairly common for people to go missing there. One story that really interested you was one from about a century ago, about a murder mystery that’s gone unsolved to this day.

You’re not all that interested in detective work, but you’d like to hear what really happened, some day. And what happened to the missing kid involved.

Coming out of your thoughts, you think for a moment. How long have you been sitting here? Long enough to get uncomfortably warm in the midday sun, it seems. You feel your wrist for your watch, of which the glass has been removed so that you could feel the hands and numbers for yourself.

Luckily it’s only 11:45 ish, so there’s no need to panic. Your mom said around twelve, right? So she’s probably going to be right on time. You can’t help but feel paranoid that she’s late, even while common sense says that she’s not.

Oh well! You’ll have to distract yourself while you wait! You feel kind of embarrassed for setting your alarm this early, when you’d have an hour of just waiting before she got here.

...The apple! You can’t believe you forgot about it in your excitement. It’s in your left hand, the one the watch is on, so that explains why you didn’t notice it earlier. You take a bite, and it tastes great. Apples always do, in your experience.

Sadly it’s gone too soon. You toss it into the trash bin that hasn’t been emptied in weeks. This would be a problem if you and your mom weren’t the only ones who would ever use it. It’s almost completely empty save for a scrap of paper or two from your mom.

Honestly, it’s a wonder the bus even comes all the way out here. Sure, your mom has to call and ask the driver, but it’s still pretty cool that they agree to do it.

...Or maybe it’s the fact that your mom’s bus card pays the driver extra. Yeah, you hate to admit it, but that’s probably the only reason. You want to believe that they do it out of kindness, but…

Oh, well. Who wants to dwell on that when she could be here any minute!? You grin to yourself, and pay extra close attention to your soul sense, waiting anxiously to feel the quiet rumble of the bus.

...You check your watch. Your fingers are a little sticky from the sugary apple juice, but you feel that it’s 12:05. You start bouncing your leg, your cheerful expression fading slowly into worry.

...12:15. You pull out your super-old-fashioned phone with actual buttons for numbers and call your mom. It rings… and rings… and rings… then stops. She didn’t pick up. You call her again, with the same results.

But that makes sense, right? She’s on the bus right now, which was probably delayed, and her phone’s turned off. Or she doesn’t have signal. Or it’s in her pocket and she didn’t notice. Or she forgot it in her hotel room. Or she was in the middle of another call. Or she was saving battery. Or she was almost here. Or-

You take a breath. You concentrate on your soul’s pulse, but there’s nothing out here except for you.

...It’s 12:30 now. That’s not that bad, right? She did say ‘around 12’, not ‘at 12.’ Still… It’s probably really childish to be worried, right? You’ve got to stop being such a baby, and stop worrying!

It’s not working. 

At 1:30 the panicking really sets in. You start to wonder if she’s even coming back at all. Er, you mean, of course she is! She’s your mom, how could she not!? She’d never leave you, or… The bus must have been delayed, or broken down, that’s all. You can calm down.

Actually, apparently you can’t calm down. It’s easier said than done. You pull up your legs close to your chest and take deep breaths. ...Still nothing. You call her again, to no avail.

At 3:00 you lay down on the bench and fall asleep.

You’re not sure how long you sleep for, but a cool breeze wakes you up. Feeling your watch tells you it’s around 6 at night.

You end up staying at the abandoned bus stop late into the next morning, waiting hopefully for your mom…

_But nobody came._

_~~~_

_The Year of 201X  
Or, in human years, the Year of 2001_

As I expected, the party is torture. My mother has a firm grip on my shoulder, but in an inconspicuous way as to not arouse suspicion.

“Look at dear Charles, isn’t he just a doll?” A woman whispers to her friend as we walk by. I glare at the floor harder, but Mother smiles and turns to her.

“Yes, he’s growing up quite well,” She says. The woman looks at least a little self-conscious to have been caught staring, but she quickly covers it up with a smile. “Look at his sweater, he picked it out himself! He gets his fashion sense from me,” She adds, her eyes daring them to disagree with her.

I cast a sideways look at my mother, remembering when she wasn’t going to let me get the sweater. Amazing how her concern over her image can change her mind so easily. ...Not that this is even slightly unusual.

Ugh, I can’t do this anymore. I tap my mother’s arm a few times, until I get her attention, and then I point in the direction of the bathrooms. I don’t really have to go, but I can’t be around these people anymore.

She releases her grip on my shoulder and I slide away, and walk in the vague direction of the bathrooms. I take a turn, though, and make for the balcony. It’s a nice night outside, even though it’s raining pretty heavily.

The darkness the rain causes even though it’s only early evening in the summertime makes the interior of the penthouse seem to have a warm glow. It’s a nice effect, but I’d rather not be in there and have to deal with all of these stuck up rich people.

I step outside onto the balcony overlooking a 15-story drop. It’s a nicer view than where I live, as it faces the mountain that gave this town it’s name. Mt. Ebott. I’ve always liked that mountain, even after hearing all of the stories and legends about it. People say you shouldn’t go near it, ever, because supposedly a ‘great evil’ lies under it. But I don’t really believe that anything can ever be truly evil except for humanity. So unless there’s a secret society of awful humans in that mountain, whatever the legends talk about can’t be that bad.

I lean on the balcony railing and sigh, looking off into the distance. The rain is coming down fairly hard, but it’s not unbearable yet. However my hair and clothes are fairly damp already. My mother is going to kill me when she realizes I’ve gotten my expensive clothes wet, but that feels like a small victory in my eyes.

...She doesn’t like my eyes. They’re a strange shade of brown, almost a red-ish color. They’re strange, but of course around other people she talks about how ‘unique and special’ they are. My hair’s almost the same color, but much more red, almost a dark orange.

I don’t want to dwell on these things. I wish that I didn’t have my thoughts constantly drifting to my mother, but for some reason I couldn’t help it. It’s weird that it was only her and not my father, but that’s probably because my father doesn’t think of me, either. Ever. So why should I think about him? The answer is I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t think about any of them. What’s the point?

...Ah. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Or she, in this case. I hear the glass door slide open behind me, and smell the sudden scent of cigarettes.

“Darling,” A slurred voice says. I don’t move, leaning on the railing with my shoulders hunched by my ears. She sighs. “You’re getting your clothes wet. Come inside at once.”

I cast a glare over my shoulder, making it clear that I’m refusing to follow her orders tonight. Water drips into my face from my hair. It’s completely soaked by now. It’s cold, but I’m past caring. Today’s just like any other day, after all. Nothing abnormal here, just another party. If I hadn’t been here I would have been in my room alone listening to my parents yelling about something trivial. So, really, this is only a slightly worse torture than a night at home.

“Charles, get in here, now.” My mother demands. She’s barely put a foot outside, preferring to stay under the awning where she’s shielded from the rain. “Sweetie, don’t disrespect me. People are staring.”

See, I’d be okay with a mother who was concerned for my health, staying out in the rain. Maybe if she cared that I might get sick, then I’d like her. But no, she’s concerned with her image, as always. And really I don’t see why I’m the one who affects her image. What about my father? She’s not ever concerned about him, although she probably should be. Maybe she’s given up on him. I might have to ask him how he managed that. However that would require actually talking to the man, and that’s a no.

“Charles.” Her high heels tap closer on the concrete behind me, and I know that I’m actually in a bit of trouble, now. Especially if she’s willing to risk getting wet. I slowly turn around to see her frowning angrily at me. “I am sick and tired of your attitude. You’re going to therapy already, what else am I supposed to do!?” She says with frustration, pulling at her hair with one hand. She stumbles a little on her high heels.

I shrug, but I’ve started to revert to my more cautious mode. She can be pretty dangerous and irrational when she’s drunk, stressed, and angry, and the fifteen story drop behind me is doing nothing to comfort me. There’s only a three foot tall railing between me and a street full of cement and cars. And an angry drunk lady with a personal vendetta against me between me and the safety of the door.

“What do you mean you don’t know!?” She snaps. I take a step back, my back hitting the railing. I start moving to the side, and to the wall that borders two sides of the balcony. That’s safer, right? “Why couldn’t I have gotten a normal boy? Why was I stuck with you? I’ve never done anything to deserve this!” She despairs. I can’t tell if she’s still talking to me. Either way, it’s very rude. I frown, and avoid looking up from the ground.

The rain’s starting to soak through her hair and clothes, now. She must be really mad to not notice or care about that. She can’t ever look less than perfect, after all.

“I should have just dealt with you a long time ago.” Apparently she’s had much more to drink than you thought. Normally, she’s always slightly tipsy. But this is full blown angry drunk. It’s pretty rare to see her this way. It never ends well.

She takes a step forwards and reaches out to take a hold of my arm, and drag me back inside. At least, that’s what I assume. She’s not able to actually do it, because as she reaches I shove her.

I can’t help it, I panicked. I was… scared. So I shoved her, pretty hard, and she toppled backwards. Over the railing, and down to the street below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this ones a bit shorter and took longer, I kinda used up all motivation I had for this while writing the first chapter. But with this one, I felt really good leaving each section where it is.
> 
> I'd really really appreciate feedback! It fuels me and I really want to do everything I can to get better at writing. So any critiques you have, don't hold back!
> 
> Askblog: saltychara.tumblr.com
> 
> EDIT: Proofreading stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Charatale: A Prologue: Chapter 3**

You wipe your eyes on your sleeve and stand from the bench. You’re sore from staying there all night, and you have to stretch before you begin to walk home. Alone. You had forgotten your stick in your haste to meet your mom at the bus stop. Normally you always kept your walking stick when you were out alone, since there was no need of it when mom was there. Walking back without it was a little disorienting, to be honest.

It… doesn’t feel like anything. You do your normal routines, but there’s an overlying melancholy that refuses to go away. It’s not like your mom’s gone forever, anyways, right? She’ll be back, just not on time. So what if she’s a couple days late?

You keep telling yourself this, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. That confuses you. Normally any problem can be solved by keeping positive, so why is this time any different? It just doesn’t make any sense. You know logically that nothing really bad could ever happen to you. Why would it? You’ve never done anything, so wouldn’t it make sense for you to be safe from anything really bad happening?

You’ve already had bad things happen. Like going blind. You should be done. So therefore nothing bad has happened, now, and nothing will ever change that. So why are you still so upset? It’s making you angry, now. You need to stop being such a baby!

A few days later you’re listening to the TV and pouring yourself a bowl of dry cereal, since the milk had run out. You sit down at the counter to eat it, but realize that you forgot a spoon! You hop off of your stool, and hit your knee on the other one that you hadn’t put away. “Ah!” You yell in surprise. You fall onto the ground, and you’re pretty sure it’s bleeding. Yeesh, that’s not good!

You sit with your injured knee to your chest, and send your soul sensing out to see if there’s anything around to help. It’s starting to really hurt! You put a finger on it, and it comes off wet. Yep, you’re bleeding.

There’s a first aid box in a drawer on top of the counter, but to reach that you’d have to stand up. You try putting weight on the leg, but hiss in pain. It’s also bruised, you’re pretty sure. You carefully stand on one leg, the uninjured one, and balance. You open the drawer and pull out the box, and then sit back down on the floor.

Searching through it with your hands tells you that there’s not much in it. You kind of get hurt a lot, but recently not as often. Your mom seems to have not restocked in a while.

At least there’s a band-aid in here. It’s one of the big square ones, so it’ll probably cover your whole knee, at least the bleeding part. But aren’t you supposed to wash it first, or something? You frown. That could be difficult. But if you don’t, then you’ll get it infected. It’s worth it.

You decide to just carefully scooch around the kitchen until you’re in front of the sink, and then carefully wash it, keeping hold of the band-aid the entire time. Then you stick it on, and by then the pain’s died down a little bit. You think that it might be okay to walk on, now.

But for now you decide to go back to eating your cereal. You tentatively grab a spoon and sit back on top of the stool.

After a few bites you hear a knock at the door. You drop your hard-earned spoon onto the ground in surprise, and go as carefully but quickly as you can to the door. Finally! Took her long enough!

You open the door grinning. “Mom!” You say. You have no reason not to think that it’s her.

“Hello, are you Fransisca?” A voice asks. That’s not your mom. Your mom doesn’t call you that. You can feel your face fall, as you realize that this isn’t her. “I’m here to help, I’m a police officer. My name is Stephanie,” The lady who isn’t your mom says.

“You’re a police officer?” Is all you can say in your dissapointment. “Am I in trouble?” The lady laughs.

“No, no. No one’s in trouble. May I come in?” She asks. You hesitate. You aren’t supposed to let anyone in, that’s what mom always said. But… she’s not here right now, so it might be okay?

“Yeah.” You move out of the doorway, and sense the police officer enter. You gently shut the door.

“Thank you. Were you eating this?” She asks. You tilt your head, wondering what she’s talking about. “The cereal?” She asks after a moment.

“Oh! Yeah.” You nod, and reach out for the stool before very carefully hopping up onto it. You don’t want to jostle your knee any more than is necessary. You hear the second stool scrape on the floor as the police officer sits next to you.

“No milk?” She asks. You shake your head.

“I’m out of milk,” You tell her.

“Interesting,” The officer mumbles, and you hear a scratching noise. It’s familiar enough to know what it is.

“Are you writing this down?” You ask.

“I am. Francisca, how-” She starts to ask, but you cut her off.

“Nobody calls me that. I’m Frisk,” You correct her.

“Sorry. Frisk, how long have you lived here alone?” She asks. You frown. What does she mean?

“I don’t live alone. I live with my mom,” You explain. What a weird question. Was that why she was here? Did someone tell her that you lived alone? That would make sense. If a kid was living on their own, then you’d want someone to come get them, too.

“Right. And where is your mother?” She asks.

“She went on a business trip. She’ll be back, soon,” You lie. Wait, lie? What do you mean? Do you not believe that she’ll be back? ...No, of course she will, don’t be silly. Stop thinking like that.

“I see. When did she leave?” The officer asks, a strange tone of disapproval in her voice. You hear her writing more things down.

“Um… Three days ago?” Has it really been that long? It felt simultaneously longer and shorter than that.

“And where did she go?”

“On a business trip! To the city on the other side of the mountain,” You say. You’re not sure that you liked this conversation.

“To Ebbott? That’s where I’m from,” She tells you. “You’re sure that you don’t know why she went?”

“I’m sure. Why? Is she in trouble?” You regret asking that the second it leaves your mouth. How could you ask that when you know she’s fine? Nothing bad happened, remember? Are you seriously doubting that now?

The officer sighs, and doesn’t talk for a little bit, like she doesn’t want to say something. “Frisk, look… Your mom won’t be coming back for a while.”

“...What do you mean?” You ask, because you just can’t find any meaning in that statement.

“I mean… Well, she’s going to be gone for a long time. Too long for you to be left alone for. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to put this…” She hesitates. “Well, she’s not coming back. Ever. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“I… no, she is. Don’t worry, she’ll be here soon. If you just stay here, you’ll see,” You explain to her. You blink your eyes a few times, because it’s still hard to comprehend what she’s saying. Your mom… Isn’t coming back? Why not? What happened?

The other stool scrapes against the floor again as the officer stands up. “I’m sorry. I’ve done my job here. Someone will be by to pick you up tomorrow. Goodbye, Frisk.”

You’re in a bit of shock. Through the buzz in your mind, you hear the front door open and shut. The officer must be gone. You sit still for a little while, trying to process what you’ve been told.

...Your mom can’t be gone, though, remember? It’s just not possible. She’s in Ebbott, just over the mountain. That’s not even that far away, to be honest. It’s probably within walking distance.

Wait, within walking distance? That gives you an idea. You climb down from your stool and go to the front door, finding your walking stick standing next to it.

You leave your house, and start walking to the bus stop at the base of the mountain. It’s a long walk, and you can feel the sunlight gradually fading, even though your watch tells you that it’s only three in the afternoon.

There’s a slight chill in the air, and a few unseasonal breezes flow through the air. It’s quieter than normal. A few raindrops begin to fall, explaining the lack of sunlight.

But despite everything, you’re going to go and find your mom. Even if that means climbing the mountain in the rain.

Halfway there you start thinking, instead of focusing on walking. What are you doing? Where are you going? To the mountain? ...You’ve never been to the mountain, and the closest you’ve ever gotten was the bus stop at the base. You figure if you just follow the road that the bus takes, it’ll take you over the mountain. That makes sense, right?

You’re not sure if you’re thinking clearly, or rationally. You’re not sure if you’ve been really thinking at all over the past couple days. Alright, let’s look at it logically, then. Your mom didn’t come back, and hasn’t come back yet. Why is that?

Your walk continues down the road, until you’re sure that you’re on the mountain and heading up. It keeps getting colder. You almost trip over a rock, but your walking stick catches you. You grimace, not needing any more scrapes or bruises. You feel a couple of raindrops, so you send your soul sensing out to look for shelter. Luckily, there’s a cave nearby. You go off the road and head towards that.

You are positive that she loves you. She always takes care of you and stresses over you, so she probably didn’t leave you, right? Unless… She got tired of always focusing all of her attention on you. Maybe she thought of you as more of a liability. Could that be it?

...No. Your mom is a good person. She wouldn’t do that without any warning. So what happened? The police officer said that she wasn’t going to be back for a while. Or, ever, in fact. She… She couldn’t be… dead, could she? You shudder at the thought, and your mind vehemently rejects it. But you have to start considering the possibility, right? And other things could have happened, too… None of them good.

You enter the cave and sit down on a log your stick hits and take a deep breath. Now that the thought has entered your head… You can’t stop thinking about it. She wouldn’t leave you if something terrible _hadn’t_ happened.

You sniff, and wipe your face on your sleeve again. You haven’t changed out of your pajamas since she left. They probably smell terrible and look dirty, but you don’t care about that at all right now. Your mom would have yelled at you to wash them by now…

You can’t help it, anymore. Once tears start flowing, they don’t stop easily. You bury your face in your sleeves as your shoulders shake.

As the shaking and sniffing subsides a little while later, you take a deep breath and stand up slowly. While you were thinking so hard, you kind of lost track of where you were. What happened to the road? You don’t even really remember how far you went.

That doesn’t matter anymore though, because you can hear the rain pounding down on the ground outside of your little cave. It looks like you won’t be able to leave for a little while.

As you take a step from the log, your foot hits something and hear your walking stick clatter to the ground from where it was leaning. You can hear it roll a little bit, and so you sigh. You slump down to your knees to search for it on the ground, but it doesn’t seem to be in your immediate vicinity. You crawl a little more, and still don’t find it. Where did it go?

You slowly move deeper into the cave, until you take a step forwards and your hand doesn’t land on solid ground. You tumble forwards, too late to catch yourself, and fall.

You hit the ground pretty hard, and feel your consciousness slipping away. You flop your hand as your last move, and feel your stick laying next to you. You guess one thing went well today, you found your stick.

And then, you’re pretty sure, you die.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_100-ish years prior…_

To be honest, I don’t really regret killing my mother. I’m probably better off without her, really. But I feel a little horrible thinking that. ...Well, I’m over it. She didn’t care about me, and the feeling’s mutual.

Someone who really cares about my actions, however, is my father. And literally everyone else at this stupid party. I turn from the railing to face the glass door, and find several people staring at me with wide, horrified eyes.

I wince. That’s not going to be fun to deal with. But there’s no time like the present, right? I cautiously slide open the door, and walk inside. Everyone who saw is too shocked to move. I walk around them, and decide that I’d better start moving towards the exit. I don’t want to deal with my father, right now or ever, really. But especially not right now.

And yet. Life seems to hate me. People finally start to move again, and rush past me to get to the balcony. I keep walking, slowly. Moving too fast would only draw more attention. Finally my father arrives and sees me, and automatically starts blaming me.

“What did you do?” He asks angrily, glaring at me as he heads to the balcony. “Don’t give me that look, I know you did something!” I continue to walk away. I don’t want to deal with this.

I’ve always kept a backup plan for running away, just in case. It’s not much of a plan, though, to be honest. I’ve heard that on the other side of the mountain there used to be a small village, but it was destroyed several centuries ago, just ruins now. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been there. For all the wealth my family has, we’ve never really traveled. I’m fine with that, I’d rather stay where I knew and could expect what would happen at any given time.

I figure that this act will be what sent my life over the edge. I won’t be welcome in my own home ever again, that’s for sure. I’ll have to count my losses of my sketchbook, which is unfortunate seeing as my father will probably burn it. But I can’t go back and take my things before I leave for good, so I’ll just have to make peace with that.

I’m a few feet away from the doors when somebody finally notices what I’m doing. “Hey! Where are you going!?” A man I don’t know asks, turning from the glass door to yell across the room. I wince. “Did you do this?” He accuses.

“He did! I saw it, he pushed her!” A woman says. More people turn, including my father, who looks furious. It’s the most emotion I’ve seen on him in years. More people start yelling, more than I can keep track of, and some start to move towards me. I can’t have anyone stopping me, so I run the few more feet to the door, and shove it open.

“Get back here, demon!” Someone yells. I guess they’re right calling me a demon. What other kid can actually time travel? What other kid is immune to death? Only a demon could kill without remorse. I come to the split between going down the elevator or the stairs, and decide on the elevator. I’ll be safe in there, and there’s less running. I’ll need to run more later, so it’s best to save my energy for now.

I call the elevator, which is conveniently already on this floor because of all the guests, and dart inside. I press the ‘close doors’ button as fast as possible, and see someone come out of the penthouse apartment as the doors slide shut.

The elevator ride is a little agonizing, but at least I feel safe for the moment. The people in there all surely want revenge, and that definitely doesn’t mean well for me.

The elevator arrives at the ground floor finally, and I race past the confused desk secretary and out of the building. Luckily the balcony was on the other side of the building, and it’s unlikely that I’ll have to face my mother’s body. The bad part: there’s already police on the scene.

I have to duck past a couple that are approaching the door, but I slow to a walk to avoid suspicion. If I run, they’ll chase me. I’m too young to to go jail. They don’t even notice me. Score one for Chara. ...I’m not really sure about that name, to be honest. It could be short for Charles if you stretched it, but I don’t think that I could convince anyone to call me that. It sounds to feminine, but that’s kind of what I liked about it?

Anyways, I’m on the run. I probably shouldn’t space out and forget that, anymore. I look nervously around the neighborhood, it’s not one that I recognize. It’s a rich neighborhood, that’s plain to see, with all of the luxury apartment buildings around and the reasonably sized park in the center of it all. There’s only a few trees there, but that might be a good place for me to hide out for a bit. I know that I won’t be able to avoid the police forever.

I go into the little park and crouch next to some bushes. It’s almost 9 at night, so it’s pretty dark and my chances of being seen are slim. That’s good, better to hide. I glance around nervously, there’s a lot of police cars here by now. They’re going to be looking for someone, and, after they talk to the party guests, they’re going to be looking for me specifically. Maybe now’s not the time to hide and I should get as far away as I can while I can.

Having made a decision, I stand up carefully and start walking quickly away from the scene of the crime. It seems that no one’s noticed me yet, but it’s only a matter of seconds before someone does.

I make it to the edge of the neighborhood of apartment buildings, and round the corner. From there, out of sight from the police and anyone else, I start to run down the sidewalk. The street’s a little busy, nothing like rush hour, but no one seems to think that it’s weird to see a child sprinting alongside the road.

Finally I’m a few streets down, away from it all. I look around and find I’ve been heading towards the mountain, which is odd. I hadn’t made that decision consciously, but now that I think about it… Where else could I go? No place would ever take me in, no human could ever be that kind. There’s really no place for me in this world anymore. Never was, honestly.

The thought darkens my mood. I don’t belong anywhere, so maybe it’d be best to just… Disappear.

I continue walking, now with a vague destination in mind. Thunder sounds overhead, and I glance up nervously. It hadn’t been that cloudy today, so this was a little strange. Then again, there was already nothing normal about this night. I had sensed it all day, a feeling that I couldn’t quite name.

Finally I arrive at the base of the mountain. There’s a faint dirt road going up it, but it’s overgrown with grass and almost swallowed completely by the woods. I look at it cautiously, and keep going up. I almost can’t see anything, with how dark it’s getting. I wish I had a flashlight.

Then it finally begins to gently rain. The woods don’t provide nearly enough cover, so I start moving faster. With luck, I can find something before the rain gets too heavy. I don’t enjoy being soaked.

A mile or so in, I realize that I’ve severely miscalculated the distance and size of the mountain. It’s much larger, and much taller than I’d thought. I’m out of breath by now, too, and the rain’s only gotten harder. Yes, this giant mountain could be the perfect place to get lost on.

But now I start looking around for shelter, and in a flash of lightning see a cave entrance. I briefly wonder if there might be bears in there before another bang of thunder sends me dashing inside.

At least it’s drier in here. I may want to die, but I don’t want to be a soggy mess when it happens. I still have some sense of decorum. I sit on the floor, not bothering to keep my clothes clean anymore, and debate just sleeping in here for the night, and possibly the rest of my life. That sounds like a good idea, if you ask me. And I am asking me, so I guess I’ve made my bed for now. I would gather leaves and such, but everything outside of the cave is too wet to really use, so I’ll just sleep on the ground. It’s not the expensive, comfy bed that my mother tried to bribe me with to be a better child, but it’s something.

I drift off to sleep pretty easily, all things considered. None of my actions seem to be ‘keeping me up at night,’ as people say. I guess they got it wrong. Or I’m just wrong. What was the word that one lady had used? Right, a demon. I’m probably just a demon.

The next morning I awake to sunshine and birds. The rain’s stopped, and being a midsummer morning, it’s already warm out. I still feel hollow. I’ve felt that way for years, but now… There’s nothing to distract myself with. I look blankly outside the cave, and feel a sense of relief realizing that I have no idea where I am. If I don’t know, then nobody knows. I smile.

I turn and look deeper into the cave. It doesn’t go too far back, but it’s far enough that it warrants some exploring. If I can see right, then it takes a turn or two the further from the entrance you get. There’s gotta be something in here, right? A bear, maybe? Wolves?

I wander forwards some more, and almost fall before catching myself and taking a step back. I look at the ground in front of me and find that there is no ground. There’s a huge hole, right in front of me.

Curious, I search for a rock to throw in, and see if I can hear it hit the bottom even though I can’t see the bottom. I find a good sized rock and toss it in. I wait, but I don’t hear a sound. It’s a pretty deep hole, then.

Well then. It’s now or never, I guess. I stand back up, and take a deep breath. I feel strangely calm, compared to what I’ve read about people crying when confronted with death. I feel more… comforted, than confronted.

I inch closer to the edge of the hole, and stretch my arms out for dramatic effect, and fall forwards.

~~~

I wake up. This is unexpected, to say the least. I blink, and see something blurry a little far off. The world sadly shifts into focus, and everything hurts. I’m laying on my stomach on the ground, and there’s some dim sunlight shining on me. Ugh. This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

“It sounded like it came from over here…” The blurry thing gets closer, not quite in enough light to see. “Oh! You’ve fallen down, haven’t you?” Something asks. I look back up and see that the blurry thing is now closer and less blurry, but no less confusing. It’s white, but not in skin color. In… fur color? It’s covered head to toe in white fur, and it has long ears. Almost like a goat. My brain hurts, and I wonder if I’m dead after all.

I don’t respond to it, of course. I just stare cautiously, and don’t make any movements.

“Are you okay?” The goat thing asks. I don’t know the answer to that. That fall was supposed to kill me, so if I’m not dead, there’s a big chance that I’m close enough that I won’t be able to move. This, obviously, is a worse fate. Especially if the goat thing is hostile. It hesitantly comes closer, and leans over me. “Here, get up…” It gently helps me to my feet, and pulls one of my arms over its shoulders. “What’s your name?” It asks.

It’s then that I notice I’m bleeding a little. Especially my hands, from instinctively trying to break my fall. I bend back down, and the goat thing lets me, and I use some of the blood to write on the ground. It watches in curiosity, trying to read what I’ve written. It’s not my best handwriting.

“...Chara, huh?” It asks, pronouncing it differently than I normally do. But that’s fine, and it’s not like I could correct it anyway, so I nod. “That’s a nice name. My name is Asriel,” It says, pulling me back upright. Well, that sounds masculine, so… He.

“So… do you talk?” Asriel asks awkwardly. I shake my head carefully, trying to ignore the monster headache I feel. “Do you speak in hands?” He asks. I look at him in confusion. “Oh, here, I’ll show you. Can you balance for a second?” I nod. He unwraps my arm from his shoulders, and makes sure that I can balance before stepping away. He motions with his hands, making weird gestures and signs, but I can gather that it’s sign language. I had never learned it, since my parents didn’t think it was necessary.

I shake my head at Asriel. His face falls a bit, but then brightens again. “That’s alright!” He says, putting my arm back around his shoulders. “I know someone who can teach you! He taught me and my parents, and most monsters. He can’t speak, either!” Monsters? Is that what these are? Where am I? I frown, but nod.

“Asriel!” Another voice says sharply. Another, taller, goat creature steps into view, and then gasps. “Asriel, what is this?” She asks. At least, she sounds and looks very feminine. But neither of these two are humans, so who can say for sure? I kind of wish that I could ask.

“I found them! I think they fell!” Asriel explains. The older goat lady gives me a calculating look.

“Asriel, that’s a human,” She says. I can feel Asriel jump a little bit.

“A human? Their name is Chara,” He says uncertainty.

“Yes, well… Chara is a human,” She explains, then frowns. “Though I suppose it would be impossible to return them… And if we did we might lose an advantage…” She mutters, seemingly to herself. I frown as well. Advantage? “Alright, we’ll take them back home,” The goat lady decides.

“Good. Chara, you’ll live with us, now!” Asriel says excitedly. The older one, the one I’m going to guess to be his mother, leads the way out of the area where I fell. Asriel helps me along excitedly, and I guess… They seemed nice enough. Not dying couldn’t be all that bad, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long time ago, two races ruled peacefully over the Earth: HUMANS and MONSTERS. One day, a terrible war broke out between the two races. After a long battle, the humans were victorious. They sealed the monsters underground with a magical spell.

In the year [ _REDACTED_ ], a small child scales Mt. Ebott. It is said that those who climb the mountain never return.

Seeking refuge from the rainy weather, the child enters a cave and discovers an enormous hole. 

Moving closer ‘to get a better look’... the child ‘falls’ in.

Now, our stories begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Extra long chapter for the finale! This was... Surprisingly difficult to write, especially considering I wrote the first chapter in one day. I'm not good at emotional things or sad things at all, so I hope that I did alright? If I didn't, I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me how to do it better! I'm always looking to improve my writing!

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Undertale!
> 
> I promised you an epilogue, but... I'm working on this for now. If it seems rushed, it is. I worked on it for exactly 12 hours, half of that during school. Tell me what you like, don't like, what you'd like to see, questions... Everything!


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